


Three Nights, Two Spies, One Bed

by LokianaWinchester



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: Chapter 3 is almost done too!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macaron/gifts).



“I’m sorry, Mr. Solo. There’s been a mistake with your booking. You said you booked two rooms?” The receptionist looked at Napoleon through her glasses, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Yes, exactly,” he repeated, as if he had not already done so twice before. The receptionist looked down at the sheet of paper before her once again, before meeting his eyes.

“Well, I really am sorry, but we are completely booked out. There’s no way we can get you the second room before Tuesday.” It was Saturday. Napoleon scoffed.

“Instead of two singles, you were accidentally given a double room.” Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

“If there’s nothing you can do, I’d like to have the keys, please.” The receptionist complied and Napoleon went off to his room. Illya would follow after a minute, as was planned.

The room was beautiful, ornate, fully decorated. Just what Napoleon had come to expect from hotels they booked for their job at U.N.C.L.E.

In the bedroom, there was one bed.

A knock at the door, in a specific rhythm, told Napoleon that Illya was there. He opened the door. Illya stepped inside and looked around.

“Nice room, Napoleon. I see you’re planning to have… company?” Napoleon took a deep breath. Illya would not like what he had to say.

“They made a mistake, Peril. We’re gonna have to share this room.” Illya frowned.

“Call Waverly,” he said.

“Why?”

“Tell him we need to relocate,” Illya grumbled.

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. Illya seemed more repelled by the thought of sharing a room, than Napoleon had anticipated.

“And why should I call Waverly?” he asked, stepping closer to the Russian, head proud, provocative.

“You booked room, Napoleon, you sort mess out.”

Napoleon stayed for another moment, holding the eye contact, then he sighed and turned around.

“Fine.” If it was anybody else, Napoleon would not be convinced to do anything he did not want to do, but Illya had this commanding energy to him, that Napoleon could rebel against but never break. It was unnerving how easily the Russian could influence him, but so far it had never negatively influenced Napoleon.

He dialed, waited, tapped his fingers against the delicately carved wood of the table, clicked his tongue, glanced over at Illya, who was watching him intently. Napoleon thought he saw Illya bite his lip, before the Russian noticed Napoleon was watching, but it was most likely his imagination. A voice at the other end of the line kept Napoleon’s thoughts from swerving into the wrong direction.

“U.N.C.L.E. customer service. This is Scott, how may I help you?” Waverly’s assistant asked.

“Solo here, can I speak to Waverly please?”

Ms. Scott sighed, Napoleon heard her shout through the office.

“Alexander! Napoleon’s on the line for you!” The woman was a delight. Napoleon had no doubt that they could have a little fun together if she was at all interested in him. Unfortunately Gaby seemed to be much more her type, not that Napoleon could blame her.

“Mr. Solo,” Waverly spoke up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Mr. Kuryakin here has a request for you,” Napoleon started.

“Then why are you on the line?” Waverly asked.

“Because my dear colleague insisted. The hotel made a mistake, giving us a double room instead of two singles. There won’t be any other rooms available until Tuesday,” Napoleon saw Illya’s finger starting to tap against his thigh at the mention of this particular information. “and Illya is absolutely insisting we relocate.”

Silence.

“Mr. Waverly?” he asked. Illya was still staring at him.

“Solo,” Waverly said. “Are you absolutely sure that this is something you need to take up with me?”

“Illya seemed to think so,” Napoleon replied.

“Well, let me tell you. It isn’t; so either you make do with what you have or you book other rooms from your own money. Last I checked you were getting paid for the work you do.”

Napoleon looked at Illya, clenched his teeth and ground out “Yes, Sir.”

“Goodbye, Napoleon. Good luck on the mission.”

The line went dead.

Napoleon straightened his back.

“So?” Illya asked.

“Either you get another room with your own money, or you stay here with me.”

Napoleon saw Illya clench his teeth before he grabbed a set of keys from the table and stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Napoleon sat down on one of the chairs next to the table.

Illya really did not seem keen to share a room with him. Their relationship had become friendlier over the past months, since they had first met.

There was still tension between them, some situations were difficult to handle, but overall, Napoleon had thought they were over this hissy-fit stage of their acquaintance. Napoleon knew he was.

He no longer let himself be provoked by Illya, he just wished Illya did not feel the need to provoke him at all anymore.

He wished they could get along, he wished they could bond like normal people, and not necessarily through shared pain. He wished Illya was interested in him, wished Illya would touch him, wished Illya would treat him with the same intensity in his touches, as Napoleon sometimes saw in his eyes.

He wished Illya would kiss him.

But if the Russian had such apparent problems with sharing a room, Napoleon doubted, they would ever share more than the occasional hug, despite all the progress he had thought they had made.

In a way it was heartbreaking, but Napoleon knew how to handle heartbreak, and in addition, he had been prepared. He knew he most probably did not stand a chance with Illya; first he had thought Gaby and Illya would get their act together and do something about the feelings they both obviously had for the other, then later Illya had continued to keep his distance. But somehow by the occasional glance, a stare he was not supposed to notice here, flashes of teeth biting lips there, Napoleon had been fooled into believing there could be something more between them.

But he had never stood a chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is almost done too!

Napoleon went about his day as planned; there was nothing that required Illya’s cooperation just yet, so he was not hindered at all. He unpacked equipment and let their contact know they were in position for the initiation of the mission the next day.

Illya did not return all day. Napoleon briefly wondered what he was doing, going for a walk? Visiting a gym or a boxing club beating some people up? Was he trying to get a head start on the mission? No, Napoleon knew Illya was too much of a stickler to disregard the plan like this.

Napoleon really was clueless as to the whereabouts of his partner. He had given up bugs and tracking devices when he had started trusting Illya with his life. Granted, maybe this decision was premature, maybe Illya should not be trusted at all, maybe Napoleon’s feelings for the Russian spy had played a slightly too big role the decision. But Illya had done nothing to make Napoleon regret it. Not yet.

By the time 9 PM came around and Napoleon was stacking up the plates of his dinner he had ordered from room service, he began to worry about Illya slightly, not that he would ever admit it. He had ordered for Illya as well, but ended up eating half his meal as well. The rest was standing on the table, forlorn, waiting for Illya to return, just like Napoleon himself.

By the time 10 PM came to pass and Napoleon had stripped down to his underwear and put on a fluffy white bathrobe, brushing his teeth, his heart was hammering in his chest from the anxiety, Illya’s absence was causing him. Ten minutes later he was lying in bed. It was still too early for him to sleep, but he was too stressed to do anything with his brain except lie in bed and stare at the dimly lit ceiling.

It was unsettling that he could not focus on anything else, it seemed dangerous that he was a spy, an agent of the highest rank and dealt with such states of mind, but he had never been anything but excellent in the field. It was a different mindset, as if his normal, human brain switched off and let the trained professional take over. Only recently, Napoleon had started to wonder what those newly discovered feelings for Illya could mean for his safety and security in that mindset on missions.

Napoleon forced his body to move and his mind to concentrate on something else. He got out of bed and switched on the television in the living room before grabbing a random book from a shelf. He had audio-visual stimulation for his mind, as well as the book to concentrate on and for a few minutes it worked, but when he tried to remember what he had just read, his memory was blank. He swallowed and got up again.

A tacky commercial was playing on television, it was slightly annoying, but at least the background noise drowned out the creeping whispers of his fears. _Illya booked himself another room_ , being among the more rational and less frightening ones.

Then there was _Illya got lost and has to sleep on the street_ , followed by _Illya got caught in a bad situation_ , which led directly to _Illya got into trouble and won’t come back and you need to rescue him, you useless idiot_. Then there were _Illya quit the mission_ and _Illya quit U.N.C.L.E._

And lastly, there was _Illya is dead somewhere in a ditch_.

Napoleon could not let those fears get too close to him. He knew they were irrational and unrealistic. Illya was okay. He would not leave U.N.C.L.E., he was strong, stronger than anybody Napoleon had ever met and he knew how to defend himself.

Trying to calm himself, Napoleon went through the familiar motions of making tea in the small kitchen area of the hotel room. He watched the kettle like he feared it might attack him if he took his eyes off it.

With a steaming mug, he returned to the couch, trying to focus on the book again.

When the mug was empty, Napoleon decided he could go to bed now. There was no use in worrying about Illya; he had no way to check on him anyway. And yet the uneasy feeling never left him.

He brushed his teeth again, threw the bathrobe over a chair and climbed under the covers. Just as he was about to switch off the lights, he heard the door open. Immediately he was on his feet, rushing towards the entrance.

Illya was shrugging off his jacket, folding it, carefully putting it onto a shelf, before he turned and… froze.

He looked at Napoleon wide-eyed and with a completely shocked expression for a moment, before his face turned back into the usual neutral expression, Illya had mastered. Only after a few seconds Napoleon noticed, that he was wearing nothing but his underwear. He shifted his weight, ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re back.”

Illya shrugged.

“Yes. Miss me, Cowboy?” he asked. Napoleon knew he was being mocked, but he decided, that Illya needed to know, even if he would see it as a mock reply and nothing more.

“I did. Could you tell me where you go off to in the future?”

Illya crouched down to open his shoe.

“What makes you think you have right to know where I go?” he asked. Napoleon frowned.

“I’m your partner,” he said and so desperately wished, there was more to that word than the obvious meaning. “We’re on mission time. What you do in your free time is your business, but if you disappear while on a mission, that’s on me as well.”

Illya huffed.

“Don’t pretend you care.”

Napoleon was speechless. He was not sure how to further signal that he did indeed care.

“There’s some leftovers on the table if you want anything,” he said instead. “I’ll be going to bed.”

Illya got up and went over to the table, looking at the food critically.

“Are there two blankets on bed? I could sleep on floor.” he asked.

Napoleon hesitated before he answered.

“No. Only one blanket.”

“I’ll sleep on couch then. Good night, Napoleon,” Illya said and looked at Napoleon with something deeper in his eyes, something that made him want to step way into Illya’s personal space, something that made him want to grab Illya and kiss him hard. Instead he swallowed.

“No,” he said firmly. Illya’s ‘good night’ had been a dismissal, but Napoleon was not having it. “The mission is important and you need to sleep. Especially because you spent all day being off god knows where. So you’re gonna sleep in bed.” Illya glared at him and Napoleon’s hands were sweating at his sides. “Until we can get you another room,” he added.

Illya just continued to glare at him, so Napoleon turned and made his way to bed. He had been clear enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Napoleon could not sleep. His eyes were closed, but Illya was making noises, rummaging around the room and as much as he would just like to ignore those, Napoleon was instead hyper-focussed on them.

Illya had eaten the leftovers cold as far as Napoleon could tell. It could not have tasted great and Napoleon almost felt guilty for eating parts of them, but then he remembered how worried he had been for Illya, and he concluded that this was what the Russian deserved.

Eventually, Illya moved to the bathroom. Napoleon heard the shower turn on, off, heard Illya brush his teeth, heard Illya wash his face, heard Illya’s wet feet on the tiles. He wished he could focus on something else.

Eventually the Russian exited the bathroom. Napoleon remained still; he was still not sure if Illya would come to bed or if he would continue to be stubborn. His heart jumped when he felt the mattress dip at the other side of the bed. Illya tugged at the blanket, shuffling around, but after a minute he stopped moving.

Napoleon could not say how long he lay awake just listening to Illya’s breaths, wishing he could feel them, pressed against Illya’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with every breath. Banishing these thoughts from his mind was already difficult when he had other things to think about and was not lying in bed next to the man himself, but in his current situation he was helpless.

Eventually, Napoleon drifted off.

When he woke up, he was disoriented for a second. Then, he remembered where he was and who he was with. Illya was closer to him now; it was not something he would complain about, but he was not sure Illya would be pleased in the morning.

“Cowboy,” Illya said.

Napoleon froze. He even held his breath for a moment.

“Hmm?” he eventually uttered.

Illya said something in Russian, that Napoleon could not quite catch, but before Napoleon could remind him of that, Illya continued talking. In English. Perfectly clear for Napoleon to understand.

“Want to punish you. Leave bruises,” Illya said. Napoleon tensed up impossibly more. Should he be afraid?

“Kiss you senseless. Make you mine; make you _listen_.”

“Fuck,” Napoleon breathed. Illya was talking in his sleep. This was not great. It was not good for Illya, because surely the part of him speaking these words, was not one, Illya was actively connected with. But it was also bad for Napoleon because now his imagination was fully awake again and running at full speed.

Illya shifted next to him and Napoleon’s mind immediately went to thinking about all the things he could do if Illya was awake, if he rolled over to him. He could sit up, straddle Illya, trace his jawline before leaning in and tasting those lips. He could keep lying down, just pulling Illya over to him into a kiss that would get more and more heated. He could touch Illya, run a hand down his chest, card his fingers through his hair.

Or he could do nothing and let Illya take the lead. He could hold still, let himself be taken care of. Illya could hold him in place, could pin him down and Napoleon would be absolutely helpless. It was absurd, how much control over situations and even his own body Napoleon was willing to hand over to Illya.

Just when Napoleon thought he was in control of his thoughts again and could have another go at sleeping, Illya uttered one more word.

“Napoleon.”

There was something about the way he said it, the way Illya always said Napoleon’s name, that made the American’s heart speed up. There was an intensity in Illya’s voice, something Napoleon could not grasp. He was not sure if he could handle it if Illya ever lost control of that intensity.

When Napoleon woke up the next morning, he was not in the mood to start a mission at all. He noticed the time he had lain awake that night; he was still tired, hesitant to open his eyes.

Next to him, Illya moved. Closely next to him, very closely, too closely. Napoleon clenched his hands into fists and climbed out of bed.

He took a quick shower and made breakfast. By the time Illya joined him, he was through his second cup of coffee and slowly felt like a human being again.

“Morning, Cowboy,” Illya said and immediately Napoleon thought back to the last time he had heard that voice. Telling him that he would make Napoleon _his_.

“Good morning to you too, Peril,” he eventually managed to say. “I hope the bed was acceptable after all.”

Illya frowned, but did not disagree.

“You can wake me and tell me to go back to other side of bed,” Illya said.

“It’s okay,” Napoleon said, grinning. “You didn’t push me off the bed yet.”

Illya only sighed in response.

The day went over smoothly, Napoleon met with their local contact in the drug ring they were supposed to take down and Illya checked out if the leads they had so far, checked out.

Sometimes, when the mission briefing did not match 100% with the scene once they arrived, something was way off and it could end deadly. But luckily this time all the leads were perfect and Illya was already back at the hotel room when Napoleon got back.

“How was your day?” Illya asked. Napoleon knew that his interest was only professional, but for a second he let himself indulge in the domestic fantasy that bloomed in his mind. Illya and him, sharing a flat; Napoleon coming home after a day at U.N.C.L.E. HQ doing paperwork. But Illya was there, when Napoleon came home and he asked about his day, he came up to Napoleon and pulled him into a kiss and –

“Cowboy?”

Napoleon snapped out of the fantasy back into reality.

“Huh?” he asked, confused for a second.

“Was contact helpful?”

“Yeah… uhh, yes, he was great. Told me all we need to know. I’ll tell you all of it later. But I need some food first.”

Illya gestured over at the table.

“Just arrived five minutes before you,” Illya said.

“Oh thank God!” Napoleon exclaimed and went to wash his hands at the kitchen sink before sitting down at the table.

“Thank me, not God,” he heard Illya grumble under his breath. Napoleon laughed out.

“Thank you, Illya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 will be up as soon as I finish chapter 5! And then I'm done I think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting chapter 4 in the hopes that I will finally finish chapter 5. Wish me luck.

The evening was relatively uneventful. After catching Illya up on the day’s events, the intel he had gotten from their contact, Napoleon was suddenly hit by a wave of sleepiness, to the point where he dozed off on the couch next to Illya while he was complaining about the room service.

He remembered why he was so tired. It did not make the situation any better that Napoleon could hear his voice in his mind, _Kiss you senseless_.

He wished, Illya would do it; there was not even any doubt that those words had been aimed at him. But maybe it was still not what Illya wanted, nobody knew why people talked in their sleep, or why they said what the said.

Napoleon’s mind went in circles around this problem.

He needed to get more sleep this night, otherwise he would fall asleep on the job tomorrow; waiting for their final leads to expose themselves was going to require a lot of waiting. They had the information that a deal would be made the next day, they had the location, but they only had a rough time frame.

When Napoleon yawned for a good 20 seconds and Illya was starting to look at him weirdly, he decided it was time to go to bed.

Falling asleep was easier, maybe due to how tired Napoleon was. He awoke again to a touch at his arm.

Was it already morning? One glance at the window told him that it was not. Carefully, he turned his head to look at Illya. He was lying directly next to Napoleon, had his eyes closed, breathing evenly. His hand was on Napoleo’s arm, grip firm, but not too much so.

“Cowboy,” Illya breathed; Napoleon almost missed it. A wave of longing washed over Napoleon at this. How he wished this was real.

He decided to try and pretend it was; he could feel himself drift off again when Illya said something else.

“I need you. Please.”

Napoleon had to bite his lip to keep quiet. Illya’s voice was low, raspy, held just the right amount of tension to make Napoleon shiver.

Luckily, he remained quiet after that, so eventually Napoleon fell back asleep, Illya’s hand on his arm and ever-present reminder of his dilemma.

When Napoleon woke up, the bed was empty. He heard Illya in the kitchen and, with a glance at his watch, noticed it was later already, than he had planned to get up.

When they finally left the hotel, the atmosphere between them was tense. It was never easy on missions. They worked together perfectly, but there was still friction there. Part of it came from how different their methods were, part from how different their training had been, and yet another aspect was to be found in their respective personalities.

All these were factors of the tension between them, but also the reason why they worked so efficiently. They matched up.

Once they reached the destination, they had to be stealthy. They planned to get into the abandoned building opposite from where the deal was supposed to happen, but the whole area was most likely closely watched.

They kept to the shadows and used a back entrance.

Illya immediately positioned himself at a window. Napoleon followed.

“We’ve got more than half an hour until we’re even in the time window we have, peril. Relax,” Napoleon said. In reality, he wanted Illya to calm down because seeing Illya on his toes made him nervous as well. He did not need that.

Illya only snorted, kept his back to Napoleon and continued staring out the window.

Napoleon took apart his gun, set it back together, checked his knives, started pacing.

“You tell me I should calm down and you… pace?” Illya asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

Napoleon stopped and looked at him. Illya was dressed as always; there seemed to be little difference between the man people saw on the street when Illya was not working, and the highly trained spy that was ready to snap at any second.

Maybe there was no difference. Maybe the spy and the person were more tightly entwined in Illya than they were in Napoleon.

“I get more nervous if you’re nervous,” Napoleon said. Illya lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Napoleon nodded and sat down on the dusty floor.

Illya went back to watching the street.

“Should have brought book,” Illya eventually spoke up.

“Maybe so,” Napoleon replied, not really paying attention to anything. He was zoned out, staring off into the distance.

“Are you even listening to m – Fuck! Cowboy. Now!”

“What?” Napoleon panted out as he jumped to his feet.

“They’re here. Now.” Illya said and ran towards the exit. Napoleon followed close behind. Three men were entering the building, one of them remaining at the door.

“We need to be quiet,” Napoleon whispered. Illya looked at him. Napoleon closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, listened. Everything was quiet.

“Hey,” he said. He was sure, the man heard him. He looked around perplexed.

Napoleon whistled a few notes. It was cheap, it was too easy, but the goon really did leave his post. He came over to their location, with heavy steps.

Napoleon heard the familiar noise of a gun being taken out of a holster. He was about to take his own out, but out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Illya shake his head.

When the door swung open, everything happened at once. Illya jumped the man as soon as he was within reach, holding down the hand with his gun, bringing him down with a few practiced punches. The gun clattered to the floor and Napoleon dived for it. He was not fast enough.

The man had his hand around the grip, finger at the trigger, and all Napoleon could do was roll over and hope that Illya was fast enough. He heard the gunshot before he felt anything.

Then pain exploded in his upper arm and he groaned, clutching it.

“Fuck.”

“You okay, Cowboy?”

“Yeah,” he pressed out through clenched teeth.

He got back to his feet; this was not a mission Illya could finish on his own.

The rest of the fight got lost somewhere in the haze of adrenaline and pain, but in the end they finished it. The mission was a success.

On the way back to their hotel, Napoleon passed out.

* * *

 

A slap to the cheek.

“Ouch!”

“Napoleon, wake up. You lost blood, I can’t carry you to room, can you stand?” Illya’s hand was pressing against the wound, which was probably good, but it hurt so bad Napoleon felt like passing out again.

“I think,” he replied.

The way to the room took an eternity, Napoleon felt every beat of his heart in the throbs of his wound, every step was exhausting him even more.

As soon as Illya opened the door, Napoleon collapsed onto the chair next to the entrance. He leaned his head against the wall.

“Hey. Cowboy!”

“Hmm.”

“Good. Stay with me. Listen to my voice.”

“Okay,” Napoleon said. He felt the ground vanish from underneath his feet and thought he was passing out again, but then he opened his eyes and saw Illya’s face before him.

Illya set him down on the sofa and proceeded to take off Napoleon’s jacket, then his shirt.

“Doing good, Cowboy, stay with me.”

Napoleon nodded.

“You’re lucky. Bullet scraped past. Nothing broken, just a lot of blood loss,” Illya mumbled.

He proceeded to bandage up the arm, then called for room service.

“You need to eat.”

He gave Napoleon a glass of water. “And drink.”

Napoleon took a sip.

“Thanks, Peril.”

The look Illya shot him was heated. The kind that made Napoleon wonder if the things he said at night were really buried that deeply, or if Illya really wanted him.

But in that moment, Napoleon could barely do more than grin at the Russian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. There's that. One more to go:)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The FInale!

Napoleon came to some time later. Illya was crouched down next to him, examining the bandage. Napoleon twitched when pain shot through him.

“Cowboy.”

“Do you have food?”

Illya rolled his eyes. “Yes. But you fell asleep. Waverly said extraction is set for 10 AM tomorrow. Because they need to treat your arm.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow, Illya only stared back at him.

“I would have thought you wanna get out of here. Sleep in your own bed.”

“I’ll survive another night.”

With these words, he got up. Napoleon followed him. He felt weakened, but nowhere as bad as before. Most likely, they would have him take two weeks off before returning to work, but Napoleon did not worry. He had had worse.

They had dinner in silence. It was not awkward, the silence was not uncomfortable. Napoleon was still weak, he felt exhausted and he was aware that some time off the job was most likely the best for him, but some part of him wished the mission was not finished. He wanted to keep sharing a room with Illya. And a bed.

They packed their suitcases before going to bed, and even though Illya insisted on packing Napoleon’s for him, the American mustered enough of his stubbornness to convince Illya he could do it himself.

When he finally collapsed onto the bed, Napoleon completely ignored the pain in his arm, curled up into the covers and fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

He woke up when he heard his name being spoken.

“Napoleon.” Illya was talking in his sleep again. He was pressed against Napoleon; too close and yet, somehow not close enough. The American rolled his eyes. He was awake now, sleep seemed unreachable.

He closed his eyes, hoping for a simulation of sleep, peace of mind for the time being. Just lying here, feeling Illya press close to him; the blissful image of united happiness, and yet a scam. Nothing more.

Pictures were deceiving to the eye.

“Napoleon,” Illya repeated, his deep voice reverberating through Napoleon’s body.

Pictures were deceiving to the eye, but words were not. There was always intention behind words. Napoleon supposed that even if the intention was deceitful, the words would fulfil their intention.

However, Illya’s words were far from deceitful. They sounded sincere, personal, and even though Napoleon was immediately involved, he felt like he was spying on Illya’s most personal thoughts.

“I need you here,” Illya continued. Napoleon’s breath hitched. He clenched a hand in the sheets and prayed that Illya would not say any more because the proximity paired with today’s events were weakening Napoleon’s resolve.

Being wounded on a mission always made Napoleon aware of how fleeting life really was, and even though he tried to live the best life he could, there were always certain things that he held back from.

Like Illya.

“Fuck,” came from Napoleon’s side. “I know what you want.”

A moment of silence.

Napoleon stared at the ceiling. This was torture.

“I can give you what you want, Cowboy.”

The American did not quite manage to cut off the laugh that bubbled up in him, a sharp sound escaped his lips.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, but for an entirely different reason.

Illya moved next to him.

“Something the matter, Cowboy?” he asked; oblivious to his own role in Napoleon’s problem.

“You don’t let it on.”

He cut off Illya before he could reply. “I mean I noticed how you looked at me, but you’re an intense person. It would make sense that you’re just like that… But you’re good. I didn’t _know_.”

“What are you talking about?” Illya’s voice was quiet, almost shy. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Napoleon rolled over, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm. He fought off the blankets in a hurry until he was straddling Illya, leaning down so that their faces were only inches apart.

“You don’t?” Illya opened his mouth, but Napoleon cut him off again. “Shhh. I’m talking, Peril. See, I don’t think that you don’t know what I’m talking about. I think you’re a stubborn man who wants to play oblivious for as long as possible.” He felt Illya squirm beneath him, but Napoleon tightened his thighs at Illya’s sides and the Russian went still again.

“I thought you’d slip up eventually,” Napoleon continued. “I thought you were gonna lose your composure and do what your looks were already saying. You can’t honestly have expected me to not notice how you look at me…” Illya opened his mouth, then closed it again, defeated.

“But you had me, I still didn’t have enough actual evidence to do _this_.” Napoleon leaned in and lightly kissed the corner of Illya’s lips.

“Or this.” He kissed the other corner. Illya’s hands came up to hold Napoleon’s sides, firmly keeping him in place. His eyes were almost completely closed, lips slightly parted.

“But then the hotel made a mistake and you vanished for a day and when you returned you woke me up by talking in your sleep.”

Illya closed his eyes in exasperation and Napoleon leaned in even closer.

“You wanna know what you said?” he whispered against Illya’s lips.

“I think I can imagine.” Illya’s voice was low, tempting, dangerous. Paired with the slight press of Illya’s fingers into his skin, it sent shivers through Napoleon.

“Make me yours,” Napoleon mumbled between shallow breaths. “Kiss me senseless.”

Feeling Illya’s lips on his, came as a surprise. Napoleon had thought that he was entirely in control of the situation, that it would be him to initiate the kiss, him to take the lead. But he had been wrong. Yet again Illya was proving him wrong but this time Napoleon did not mind at all. Illya was leaning up into the kiss, lips warm against Napoleon’s, tongue slipping between them and Napoleon was lost. To think that he had any control when he was so ready to completely surrender to Illya was ridiculous. He kissed back eagerly fingers carding through Illya’s hair. This was a dream come true, a nightmare avoided, a hopeless hope fulfilled.

When they broke apart, Napoleon did not dare open his eyes for a moment, but when he did, he was greeted with the most beautiful sight. A slight smile on Illya’s lips, genuine and warm.

“I’ll do my best to keep promise,” he said. Napoleon snorted.

“And I’ll hold you to it.”

“Sleep now, Cowboy. You’re injured. We’ll talk about this later.”

It was just like Illya to postpone an intense make-out session, but Napoleon chose to accept it. He found a comfortable position, nestled into Illya’s side.

With an arm around him and a smile on his lips, he fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I can't believe I wrote the first 4 chapters in like 2 days and then I procrastinated on the last chapter for almost 3 weeks.. but anyway,,, here we are. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :))

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated! <3


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